n't a
possible life; perhaps surrender is. Let's try.' All this was the
underlying thing--the real thing that was going on. On the top we were
doing all sorts of interesting outside things--he was a wonderful
companion--but this was what we were battling out all the time--how to
make it work--how we could give our lives a chance of working together.
We both wanted that--and we both knew that it was horribly difficult.
The greatest thing about him is that he knew my side of the difficulty
so extraordinarily well. Isn't that rather rare?"

"To his mind you were a great woman. He called you so to me. That
accounts for it."

"How difficult it all is! The more the thing is worth while, the more
difficult! Well, we were to try--to be married and go to Africa and try.
Leonard didn't press marriage on me, but he admitted that he'd prefer
it--for a particular reason that I'll tell you about presently. And I
agreed; but neither of us made a great thing of that. Marriage may be a
great thing, but I can't think that marrying just to mend matters is
anything very great and sacred, can you? And that was all ours would
have come to, of course. It would have been by way of apology."

She had a remorseless mind--most remorseless for herself and her
motives. Yet a man might be a bit puzzled how to meet her reasoning.

"We're getting into the sphere of those opinions," I said. "We shall be
up against Alison and Mrs. Jepps in a moment!"

"I know, and I'm only trying to tell you what happened--how we felt
about the thing. And then--we needn't have troubled! A gay young
gentleman, a little merry with wine--a lady in a cafe--a hot-tempered
man particularly jealous to exact respect for her--what a simple,
obvious, silly way to bring everything to dust!"

"You said you were happy at last."

"Our fight was done; our love was perfect. Oh, but we managed a quarrel;
I wanted to die, too, and that made him terribly angry." She
laughed--and the tears rolled down her cheeks. "Dear, dear Leonard--he
said that, if he'd known I should talk such nonsense, he'd have thrown
the Frenchman into the Loire and had no more trouble about it. So he
died--his crossness with me just over!"

"Well over, I think," I said gently.

"He gave just one turn of his great great body, laid his head on my
breast, swore at a fly that settled on his nose--oh, Austin!--and went
to sleep there like a little child. It was above two hours before I
could bear to call anybo